The Fire Trumpet Part 23

They drove on a little farther, and halted in a beautiful spot, by a pool of clear, but brackish water, thickly overhung with bush and trailing plants, where Lilian was delighted with the colony of pendulous finks' nests swaying to and fro as their startled occupants dashed in and out, chirping volubly. Claverton took the horses to the water, then knee-haltered and allowed them to roll while he placed on the ground one of the couple of bundles of oat-hay which were carried in the buggy for their benefit. Then he returned to his charge.

"I must apologise, Miss Strange. The rule of the _veldt_ is not that of society. Here it is, 'horses first.'"

He spread the wraps, which kind, thoughtful Mrs Brathwaite had sent for Lilian's use, under a shady tree, making her a comfortable seat. Then he unearthed the commissariat, of which the staple articles were a chicken and a bottle of Moselle.

"But this is far too luxurious," protested Lilian, her beautiful face sparkling with animation. She was thoroughly enjoying the unconventionally of the whole thing. "I declare it does not seem like camping in the bush if we are to revel in luxury."

"Take it easy while you can. That's the secret of true philosophy. The goat chops and pumpkin and rice will come, all in good time."

She laughed gaily. Then she threw off her large straw hat, and pushed up her dark hair as if to ease it of the weight. Not a detail of the movement or its effect escaped her companion. He had not yet seen her without her hat. It is surprising what a difference this outdoor appendage makes in the appearance of some women. He noted, without surprise, that Lilian Strange looked equally beautiful either way.

"Mr Claverton, why don't you smoke?" she asked, as, having lunched, there was a dreamy pause in the conversation.

"I thought you might object. But--how do you know I indulge in the chimney trick?"

"Object? No, I'm not so selfish as that. And as for how I knew, I might answer all men do, but I won't. The fact is, you made a quite unconscious and mechanical dive at your pocket, and brought out half a pipe. I'll give you credit that the move _was_ quite unconscious."

"It was, upon my honour. What a magician you are--you notice everything."

It has been stated that Lilian Strange possessed an extraordinarily dangerous and captivating smile. She was in one of her softest moods now, thoroughly enjoying the fresh air and wild, extensive scenery; and the drive, the impromptu picnic _a deux_, and above all her late emanc.i.p.ation from distasteful drudgery amid uncongenial surroundings, and the prospect of two months' rest from the same. Then she had taken a great liking to her travelling escort; short as had been the period of their acquaintance. So that now as she lay back, laughing over the quaint dryness of the said escort's remarks, it could not be but that her winning and attractive spell should weave itself around him to the full. This girl was something quite new in Claverton's experience. The soft, sweet tones of her voice, her glorious beauty, her very ways and movements, seemed to cast a glamour over him such as he had never known before in the course of his life. Bright, teasing Ethel Brathwaite, blue-eyed, sunny, impulsive, seemed poor clay when contrasted with this new arrival with the lovely, expressive face and the undulating, sensuous form--so stately and yet so unaffected and appreciative--so cold of demeanour, at times, and withal so sweet and considerate. Yet nineteen men out of twenty would have given the preference to Ethel; but then it may be that this other one would have favoured the nineteen with the coldness devoid of the consideration.

Be this as it may, Claverton was certainly the twentieth in both senses, and, as they sat there, resting in the golden sunshine, the drowsy air around them made musical by the whistling of spreuws and the hum of summer insects, he, at any rate, found himself wishing that that hour might last throughout an eternity.

And the curious part of it was that he had not known her for hours enough to make a double figure.

But time cannot be trifled with, and they were due at Seringa Vale before dark. So the horses were put to in a trice.

"Can't I help you in any way?" said Lilian. "It seems so hard that you should have all the trouble while I sit still and look on."

"It's no trouble at all," answered the other, tugging vigorously at a refractory strap. "I wouldn't let you bother about this sort of thing for the world. In fact, I am only too glad that you are not tired to death with the long, hot ride. And I think we'll put the hood up, for there's no shade between this and the next outspan."

Now came the hottest stage of the journey. The full glare of the sun focussed down into the broad valley, beat fiercely upon the tent of the buggy, and, but for the rapid movement creating its own draught, there was not a breath of air. Lilian began to feel drowsy and could have pleaded guilty to an incipient headache, but she did not complain. Her companion, however, detected the tired look in her eyes, and was greatly concerned; but she laughed it off. She would be all right again when it got cooler, she said. It was really very silly of her, but she was just a trifle below par.

On this point he rather vehemently rea.s.sured her. Why, he himself often felt as if about to get a sunstroke riding through these long, hot valleys, just in the middle of the day--and he was a tolerably well-seasoned traveller. But it is to be feared that, for once in his life, he forgot to spare the horses in his anxiety to reach the end of that stage.

Lilian, however, forgot her fatigue, as after the next outspan they wended up the rugged, but picturesque bush-road, in the golden light of the waning afternoon. They were in shade for the most part now, and the air grew cooler as they ascended gradually out of the stifling valley, where the river they had crossed a little while ago, flowed sparkling in the sun like a silver thread. Opposite, a row of stiff euphorbia reared their plumed heads, their stems, straight and regular as a line of organ-pipes, standing out from the darksome, rocky glen behind them like the bars of a gloomy cage enclosing some ferocious beast. There, a great cliff, overhung with lichens and monkey ropes, starting capriciously from among the greenness, and everywhere a shining sea of bush; not silent, either, but resounding with evidence of animal and insect life. Far away, almost inaudible, the harsh bark of the sentinel baboon; close at hand, oppressive in its vociferation, the shrill chirrup of crickets. Hoopoes were softly calling to each other from the tangled recesses of some cool and shady nook; and a bright louri, in all the pride of his crimson wings and glossy plumage, darted across the road.

When they arrived at Seringa Vale, all its inmates were at the door to welcome Lilian.

"I hope Arthur took great care of you, my dear," said Mrs Brathwaite, the first genial greetings over.

"I have to thank Mr Claverton for taking the greatest possible care of me," answered Lilian, flashing at him one of her sweetest smiles.

For a brief second their eyes met. One standing there noted both those glances and read them like an open book--read in one, possibility; in the other, certainty. And Ethel was forced to admit that her aunt's description of their visitor's attractions was not one whit exaggerated.

And it had all come about in a single day.

VOLUME ONE, CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

IN A SINGLE DAY.

"Mopela, what on earth have you been doing all this time? I sent you for that water half an hour ago."

There is menace as well as wrath in the tones of the speaker as he confronts the individual addressed, who is calmly squatting on the ground between two pails containing water just drawn out of the dam. It is midday, and a blazing sun pours down upon them, to the delectation of certain mud turtles basking on the hard, cracked surface of the baked ooze, and who, alarmed by the sound of angry voices, scuttle away into the water as fast as their legs can carry them; while, in the noontide stillness, the smooth surface of the reservoir glows like copper beneath the burnished rays. Again Claverton--for it is he--repeats his question in a more irate tone than before.

Mopela rises and eyes his interlocutor in a manner that betokens mischief. He is a huge Kafir, tall and broad-shouldered, and his bronze, sinewy frame, whose nudity shows the development of great muscular power, looks formidable enough. He hates Claverton, who has more than once had occasion to be "down on" him for careless herding, or other derelictions, and never loses an opportunity, whether by covert insolence or neglect of orders, of showing it. And for some time past the relations between the two have been--in the language of diplomacy--a trifle "strained."

"I _haven't_ been half an hour," he replies, defiantly, "I only stopped a minute to light my pipe."

"You infernal blackguard, do you mean to give me the lie direct?" says Claverton; and his voice shakes with pent-up fury as he advances a pace nearer the last speaker. "Take up those buckets and get away at once!"

The savage gives an exclamation of disgust, and his eyes glare. Then throwing back his head contemptuously, he says with an insolent sneer: "You are not _Baas_ here."

"The devil I'm not!" Crack!--woof!--a right and left-hander straight from the shoulder, and the huge barbarian goes down like a ninepin.

"You dog! you've played the fool with me long enough, and now you've come to the end of your tether. Get up," he continues, spurning with his foot the prostrate man, from whose mouth and nostrils a red torrent is gushing. "Get up, and I'll floor you again!" His fierce temper is now completely beyond his control, and for the moment he is as thoroughly a savage as the dusky giant lying at his feet.

How it will end Heaven only knows, but at this juncture a low cry of horror behind him causes him to turn, and what he sees brings a hot flush to his face, up till now livid with rage. For there stands Lilian Strange, and her white face and dilated eyes betray that she has been a terrified witness of the whole scene.

Claverton started as if he had been shot.

"I fear you have been dreadfully frightened," he said. "Needless to explain I had no idea of your presence."

He felt very concerned, and his face flushed hotly again as he thought what an awful ruffian he must seem in her eyes. This was the second time within twenty-four hours that she had seen him lose his temper, though yesterday, anxiety for her own safety had been the justification.

His clothes were plentifully splashed with sulphur and lime, in which salutary decoction he had been dipping sheep when the _fracas_ occurred.

At his feet lay the hulking form of the Kafir, breathing stertorously and bleeding like a pig. Yes, what a cut-throat he must seem to her!

But Lilian could not have been of this opinion, for the startled expression faded from her eyes and a delicate tinge showed in the warm paleness of her cheek.

"I had been for a walk in the garden, and came suddenly upon you. I couldn't help seeing it all. He seems badly hurt; can't we do anything for him?" she pursued, going up to look at the prostrate barbarian, and again growing pale at the sight of the blood. For Mopela lying there, with all the results on his countenance of the punishment he had received, was not an exhilarating object to gaze upon.

"Do anything for him? Oh, no; he's all right. Look."

The Kafir opened his eyes stupidly and staggered to his feet. Then, with a glance of deadly hatred at his chastiser, he took up the buckets and walked away, his gait rolling and uneven.

"You don't know what I've had to put up with from that bru--that rascal for some time past. Well, he's got it now, at all events. I knew it was only a question of time. The only thing I regret is that it should have been at so inopportune a time," he added, in tones of deep concern.

He was exceedingly vexed and disgusted with himself. Mopela might have inflicted upon him a whole vocabulary of impudence before he would have afforded Lilian such an exhibition had he but foreseen.

"I suppose you find these natives very trying?" she said.

"Not as a rule. On the contrary, I always pull well enough with them.

But that chap's defiance had reached such a point that one of us had to knuckle under. It would never have done for that one to have been myself."

"I suppose not," answered Lilian, with a little smile at the idea of her escort of yesterday "knuckling under" to anybody. "And now I must not delay you. I see you are busy--but--would you mind walking back to the house with me? I am easily frightened, and these savages do look so dreadful when they are angry."

"Would I mind? But don't _you_ mind being seen in such ragged company?"

he added, drily, with a glance at his rough and besplashed attire.